Nobody's perfect
by Khrat9
Summary: It was an unspoken thing. How Shaw would always lay down facing the door and Root the window. Back to back. Never fully touching but close enough that Root could always feel Shaw's warmth on her back.


Hello. Here is my first fic in the POI fandom. I was listening to Jessie J Nobody's Perfect, hence the title. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Disclaimer : I do not own Person Of Interest nor do I make profit from it.

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She was trying hard not to make a noise. They had to move fast, run in the shadows, merge with the walls. She was trying to keep up but exhaustion, thirst and despair were weighing her down. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered anymore. They should have just killed them.

No more shooting in the kneecaps. A bullet straight to the head. No more running. No more hiding. Surely Harold would understand. She was trying to survive. She was trying to save them.

She should have listened to Shaw. Shaw, who since Samaritan discovered her true identity, wanted to fight back. Gun blazing with no concern for her survival. Shaw who wanted to hit big and hard. Shaw, the perfect soldier. The disposable one. Root couldn't let that happen. She chose not to let it happen. She hadn't heard anything from the Machine ever since. Root wondered what would happen if Harold, John and Shaw knew the truth. If they knew that she might have doomed them all.

The Machine gave her a purpose, She taught her so much. She filled the void left by what life had made of her. She had been her light. She taught her that people were worth saving and she knew that the deafening silence in her ear was the direct consequence of her choice.

The shadow before her stopped abruptly. Root's body was so in synch that she didn't even flinched when she scraped her hand on the wall from the sudden stop. All she could hear were the sound of their breathing, low and yet so deep. The cold air of New York freezing her lungs.

"There's four of them ahead. Quick and easy."

"Ready when you are, Shaw." She said smirk in place.

They made quick work of the Decima agents and ran. Again. All they did was run. And hide. Sleeping on the cold hard floor of some abandoned building in a shady neighbourhood, waiting for the Machine to make contact. They hadn't talked or seen Harold and John for a two weeks now and Root wondered if they were dead somewhere. It would be all her fault.

Tonight was no different. After running most of the night they found a building where they would hide during the day and catch a bit of sleep. Root had worse. Sleeping in an abandoned building with Shaw was certainly not one of them. Some nights were filled with the unrelenting desire to feel alive. To hurt and forget. Those nights were spent in grunts and quiet cries. Sweat and bruises. Those nights were fun, they were like a sudden explosion in the dead of night. Never knowing when it would happen and yet hoping it would destroy everything. Make everything change, make everything new.

Some nights were spent in silence. It was an unspoken thing. How Shaw would always lay down facing the door and Root the window. Back to back. Never fully touching but close enough that Root could always feel Shaw's warmth on her back. Guess the tension in Shaw's shoulder, never relaxing, always ready to jump into action. Root liked those nights the best. Root always felt safer and closer to Shaw on those nights. Trust and fall.

She wondered what Shaw would say if she knew that Root had lied to everyone to protect her. Root knew sacrifices were expected in a war. Especially in this one where the odds were definitely not in their favour. She was ready to give her life in that hotel to protect their number, to protect them all. But she couldn't sacrifice Shaw.

So she ignored the incessant beeping in her ear. The plan the Machine was giving her. A plan with 85% of success that would considerably weakened Samaritan. A plan where Shaw would act as decoy with 0% of survival.

Root told everyone to hide because it would only be a matter of time before Samaritan puts two and two together now that he found one of them. She told them to hide and wait for instructions from The Machine.

They've been waiting for weeks. Either Root had killed The Machine or The Machine had abandoned her, she didn't know. The Machine was perfect but Root wasn't. She couldn't let Shaw go.

Shaw led her to an old building that was about to fall off. They walk up the stairs to a room that lead to a fire escape. They did the usual exit checks and plans for tomorrow. They ate whatever food they had stolen in their bags and Root watched Shaw lie down in the middle of the room on the cold hard floor facing the door.

Root often asked herself if she made the right choice. If choosing Shaw over everyone made her a bad person. On those cold nights where the doubt and the guilt would slowly creep into her soul, feeling Shaw scoot just a bit closer to her as she lay down facing the window make it all worth it.

Root wasn't a good person, anyway.


End file.
